Welcome to Labelius – where you can be whoever you’re labeled to be. 

The well-lit sign stood proudly on the side of the road leading into the bustling city. 

Once inside, it became obvious why Labelius had the motto – and the name – that it had. Every single person, without exception, was emblazoned with bright, bold labels. 

Some residents had several labels, some only a few, others just one. But most tried their best to conceal the ones they didn’t want on display while polishing and flaunting the ones that were popular.

Trendsetter. Loyal. Active citizen. High class. Leader. 

Lazy. Traitor. Outsider. Thief. Liar. Cheater. Murderer. 

Each resident also carried their own satchel full of stamps and ink pads. Whenever somebody did or said something out of the ordinary, all the others stopped in their tracks, opened their satchels and rushed to the offender. Out came the stamps, out came the ink pads, on went the labels. 

Life had carried on this way in Labelius for as long as any of the residents could remember. Collect the vogue labels, avoid the tasteless labels, viciously label those who deviate. Labels were life. Life was labels. 

Then came the day that no Labelian expected. Out from their midst came a gentle man who hadn’t the slightest interest in how he was labeled. Certainly he carried his own satchel, but when the flurries of mass labeling occurred he simply sat on the fringe and waited for the crowd to leave the offender. 

Once they were gone and the gentle man was left alone with the divergent Labelian, who was now breathless and barely recognizable for the tears and overabundance of labels, the gentle man sat down, opened his satchel and pulled out a basin of warm water and a white towel.

 Looking the labeled one in the eyes, the gentle man would slowly, gently and firmly wash the labels away. Some of the labels had been accurate. Some had not. Most had been deserved. But now all were gone. In their place was a new label bearing the gentle man’s name. 

This happened again and again. Soon the gentle man had a following. Some of the followers had been handpicked by the gentle man himself. Others had simply followed out of curiosity and a stirring in their hearts. But all had their multitude of labels (both good and bad) replaced by the gentle man’s name. 

Many of the man’s followers – and even the man himself – made the preposterous claim that he was the son of Labelius’ Founder. The one whose name most Labelians didn’t even dare to whisper, let alone keep alive in public memory. The Founder had built the city of Labelius long before it even had a name, before the Labelians had become so hopelessly steeped in the mire of labels and stamps. Now this man who defied tradition was claiming to be his son, even putting himself on equal footing with the Founder. 

As you can imagine, this sort of thing didn’t go over well with the Labelian officials. So, agreeing amongst themselves that the gentle man didn’t belong in Labelius after all, they began to plot. 

The next time they saw that man, the Labelian officials jumped him and furiously pounded him with stamps until he was drenched in ink from head to toe. But then came the most curious thing of all. All of the most horrible and condemning labels they had stamped him with simply wouldn’t stay on. When the officials took a step back to survey their work, their jaws dropped as they saw what labels did stick: Lion. Lamb. King. Servant. Despised. Rejected. Foretold. Judge. Savior. 

As if that wasn’t enough to confound the Labelian officials, they were shocked to discover new labels on themselves. Hypocrites. Wolves. Vipers. Blind. Condemned. 

This was the final straw. This so-called “king”, this rabble-rouser, this label-washer, could no longer remain in Labelius. For that matter, he could no longer remain anywhere. 

He had to die. Quickly, they exchanged the stamps in their satchels for vicious instruments of torture and killing. 

They roughly jostled the gentle man, that label-changer, that one who exposed their self-preservation, into a dirty ditch outside the town. With their words they mocked him, with their tools they performed deeds no Labelian had ever been subject to and left him for dead in the ditch outside Labelius. 

Where were his followers? Some hid, some ran, some tried desperately to hide the label bearing his name. All despaired, convinced they would never, could never see his gentle face gazing into theirs again. 

But just when it seemed all hope had been lost and it was certain that he was dead (three days under the ground without a pulse were more than sufficient), he surprised Labelius once again. Those labeled with his name were the first to see him fully alive, well and looking like the royalty he truly was. 

Go, he told them. Show the rest of Labelius who I have made you. Who I am. You will be labeled by them without mercy, labels without end. But no one can remove the label I have given you. The label with my name. Bear that label with pride, for it is the only one that matters. I’m going to make a new city for you to live with me. And then he went away, leaving his spirit in their hearts. 

The followers quickly discovered how true his words were. They were labeled without end, without mercy at the hands of the other Labelians as they went and told of the gentle and royal man. Most Labelians rejected these followers and their message. But some accepted it with joy. These ones found the man’s name on their forehead, placed there by his spirit.

As the years passed in Labelius, the changed Labelians fluctuated between pride in the gentle man’s label and fear of displaying it publicly. They often found themselves reverting back to their old ways of vicious labeling when they were disagreed with. Even mercilessly labeling their fellow changed Labelians with their own stamps, ignoring the only label that mattered – the gentle king’s name. 

It often looked – and was – quite messy, but the man reminded them through the spirit he had placed in their hearts that he was making them a new city. It was then that they threw away their satchels and polished up the label he had given them, wearing it proudly until he came back to bring them to their new home. 

Hebrews 13:12-14

Therefore Jesus also suffered outside the gate, that He might sanctify the people through His own blood. So then, let us go out to Him outside the camp, bearing His reproach. For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come.

Dear Jackson,

Every day that I watch you grow my chest swells with pride. God has already made you a rowdy, rough and tumble, adventuresome, protective, kind and caring little boy. I pray for you every day and am eager to see the man you will become.

I pray all the time that God will make you a strong and capable man who loves Him and takes care of your Mama and your sissy. Maybe it’s better that I’m in this wheelchair, because if I could do all the things I wanted for you and with you, you might try to be like me instead of like Jesus.

But I’ll be honest with you, buddy. It sure hurts my daddy heart to not be able to do what other daddies do with their boys. After nearly nine years of this disability, I’ve learned to be okay with things I can’t do for myself. But I’m not sure you quite understand how intensely I want to scoop you up in my arms and tickle you while we’re playing wheelchair tag in the backyard. Or how badly I want to teach you how to throw a ball, even though I was never any good at it myself.

The other day we were being silly in the house (what else is new?). You would back up to the wall, say ready, set, go and zoom across the house to the opposite wall. Then, “Come on Daddy, your turn! Go fast!”

I don’t remember the first time I saw the young woman who would become my wife. I don’t even remember officially meeting her. 

But if I had known the deep ocean of love, joy, loss, gain, growth, learning, and side-by-side battle fighting that awaited me on the other side of those hazel eyes, I’m sure I would have gotten down on one knee and begged Emily Davis to marry me on the spot. 

There’s a reason God doesn’t show us our future. 

I’m glad that God spared her the folly of marrying an insecure eighteen year old dipstick. Instead she got a twenty-year-old dipstick. Next month she’ll have a thirty-year-old one. 

If you don’t know the story of how we fell in love, I’ll spare you the mushy details and explain it in one paragraph. We met at what was then New Tribes Bible Institute in Jackson, MI in August 2009. I was an 18 year-old freshman and she was a 21-year-old sophomore. I was acutely aware of the fact that she was way out of my league, so I stayed safely in the friend zone for two years. Long story short, I finally realized that if I didn’t snatch her up soon, some other guy would. One summer of “intentional friendship”, two awkward dad talks, and six months of dating later, we were married. 

But our wedding was just the beginning of our love story, not the end. Seven months and twenty-two days later, we were in the car accident that would redirect our lives for good. A disability had been the last thing on our minds when we said “I do”…   

There’s a reason God doesn’t show us our future. 

Nine years, something like eight brain surgeries, countless hospitalizations, an endless parade of caregivers and therapists, and two and a half kids later, Emily Bargeron is still standing with me. Still fighting beside me. Still loving and respecting me for who I am, not who she wishes I was. She’s still way out of my league. Even when I’m standing at 5′ 8″ gazing down at her delicate and strong 5′ 1 (& 1/2) ‘, I look up to her with no reservations. I don’t remember the day that I met her, but I will never forget the years God has given us in marriage so far. 

With such an uncertain future in store this July, and a third blossom on the way, there’s no telling what we’ll face next. 

There’s a reason God doesn’t show us our future, 

But I don’t care how mine looks as long as I can spend it with Emily. Happy ninth anniversary, my love. 

 I don’t usually post this sort of thing to our blog, but I wrote this on Facebook today and Emily thought it would be good if I also shared it here for our friends and family who aren’t on Facebook… 

All of our friends and most of our Facebook followers know about our situation. How the day after our first Christmas as a married couple we were in a life-shattering car accident in a blizzard that left me (Lane) with a traumatic brain injury. How the past eight years have been filled with the mountains and valleys of uncertain recovery and the necessity of round the clock physical care. If you follow us on Facebook or on this blog you would also know of our two beautiful children, precious gifts from God in the years since the accident. If you’re familiar with us or our story at all, you’ll also know of the rock solid hope we have in Christ. 

What you may NOT know is that my medical care, rehabilitation and caregivers have all been paid for by Michigan’s Auto No Fault law, which for years has guaranteed unlimited care for survivors of catastrophic motor vehicle accidents. Without the provisions of Auto No Fault, I and thousands of others like me would likely not have had the financial resources to even make it past the first year alive, let alone to have any chance at recovery and life beyond medical facilities. 

But this will all change come July 1st. Based on the careless decisions of a few to abuse these provisions to their advantage (thereby making Michigan auto insurance rates skyrocket), lawmakers on both sides of the aisle have attempted to reform No Fault by making massive cuts. While their intention to lower insurance rates is admirable, their approach is uninformed and unjustly punishes all of us who rely on No Fault benefits. If no action is taken before July 1st, the home care and rehab agencies I and others rely so heavily on will only be reimbursed 55% of what they currently receive from insurance. For most agencies this will be unsustainable, putting them out of the job and their patients at serious risk. Family will only be reimbursed for 56 hours a week for the care they provide (even if, like my wife, they provide substantially more than that). This will be catastrophic for those families like us who rely on that income NOT to get rich, NOT to cheat the system, but simply to live. This unlimited personal injury protection is what we chose to pay for monthly from day one of having auto insurance. It’s NOT a free handout, like some would suggest. And even though we’ve been receiving these benefits since December 26, 2012, we will NOT be grandfathered in, as many (even many lawmakers) believe. 

The Michigan House bill HB4486 and Senate bill SB 314 will provide a fix that allows survivors like me to continue receiving the care and services we need while still remaining within the budget of the Auto No Fault Reform law that’s set to take effect July 1st. 

What does that mean for you? Glad you asked. Michiganders, if you’re like me or know someone in Michigan who is, contact your legislators and plead with them to get behind these bills. You could save a life. If you’re not in personal contact with someone affected by this law, just realize it could be you at any time. Nobody in an auto accident plans to be. Join this group to find out who to contact, how to contact them, and what to say. https://www.facebook.com/groups/287322706254624

If you aren’t a Michigan resident but know someone who is, share this with them. If you don’t know anybody in Michigan, please pray for us. We trust God to do what is best in this situation, and he is NOT our last resort. 

I don’t cry that often. Never really have. Maybe it’s because of pride, maybe insecurity, maybe a little of both, but generally I’ll do anything I can to avoid spilling tears. A couple weeks ago the dam burst. Here’s how it went down.

Earlier in the day I watched a sermon where the pastor was trying to wake his congregation up from the sleepy complacency of suburbia. I know full well (and have written about) the fact that comfort and ease are not inherently wrong, but I do think they can be a dangerous distraction. And one of my biggest fears as a father is raising church kids who know all the right answers but could care less about Jesus. As I watched that sermon, some old feelings I hadn’t encountered in a few years (feelings I’m certain that sermon wasn’t intended to elicit) started rising to the surface again. Feelings of insufficiency. That I wasn’t doing all I could be doing. That I might be using my disability like a crutch (no pun intended), an excuse to lay down and get comfortable in complacency. That maybe, just maybe, we could still go overseas to the foreign missions field like we’d always planned and dreamed.

I was pumped. The fact that I couldn’t walk, talk, feed myself, use the bathroom independently, (etc, etc, etc) was beside the point. I was fired up and by golly I wasn’t going to let my family fall prey to the false security of the American dream on my watch. So I rolled out of my room and told Emily I wanted to talk and pray about family direction during Nyra’s nap. 

It’s a new year. The calendars have been swapped. 2021 is here. Perhaps more importantly for most of the world, 2020 is gone.

Here’s the thing, though. The only things that operate on the calendar year are humans. For that matter, humans can’t even agree on which calendar to use. Gregorian? Lunar? Mayan? The list goes on, but what I’m trying to say is this:

January 1st is not a reset button

Several people asked me the last week of 2020 if I was making any new year’s resolutions. In the past, I would have probably made up a list just to fit in with the cool kids, but this year I simply directed their attention to a little sign we have on our wall. On the sign is written Lamentations 3:22-23.

After a year like 2020, I think it’s fair to say we could all use a fresh dose of hope. 2020 forced the world to acknowledge the fact that every day in this fragile world is haunted by the shadow of the unknown. But still it’s easy to put all our eggs in the basket of 2021. Why?

Humans are wired for hope 

I don’t mean that wishy-washy maybe stuff. “I hope it doesn’t rain” is a desire for the future based on an uncertain outcome. No, I’m talking about a confident expectation that’s grounded in moral certainty. When I say humans are wired for hope, I mean God planted in us a remarkable ability to look forward to what we can’t see.

So when COVID-19 burst onto the scene, everybody started looking forward to a future when it would be eradicated like any other preventable disease. As 2020 drew to an end and a vaccine was in sight, the rallying cry became “2021 is the year the virus will end.”

When George Floyd was killed and racial tensions boiled over into months of riots, people looked forward to a future with no racism, and pinned their hopes on electing a less divisive and more “woke” president. The rallying cry became “2021 is the year racial harmony will begin in America.”

I shy away from politics on our blog, and I won’t make this post an exception. Neither am I any sort of medical authority, so I can’t speak to the efficacy of the vaccine or what measures ought to be taken to stop the spread of the virus beyond what I am told.

But I do know this: the purpose of the Lord will stand. And boy am I glad He isn’t confined to human calendars.

God’s mercies are new every morning 

Scroll back up to that verse at the beginning. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.

In Him, every day – no, every moment is a fresh start. That doesn’t mean all your troubles will vanish every morning. I’ve said it before on this blog, but it bears repeating: God is not a genie who exists for the sole purpose of making our lives comfortable.

Lamentations 3:22-23 does have two important implications, however. 

 If a picture is worth a thousand words, how many thoughts is it worth? If you were to ask me and Emily to come up with one thousand words to describe each of these pictures, I imagine we’d get stuck well before we reached a hundred. 

But ask us to tell you the story of what God did in the space of time between the two pictures, and you may or may not regret you ever asked. 

The picture on the left was our first Christmas as husband and wife. To my recollection it was also the last picture of us standing together. The accident that would change our lives was the next morning. The picture on the right was taken eight years later. In the space of time between these two photos, God spared our lives, changed our lives and gave us two new lives. 

I honestly don’t have much commentary to give in this post. We just wanted to remind you of God’s goodness on this eighth anniversary of God redirecting our lives. 

Take a look at some of your old pictures, easy or hard. How has God directed your life and challenged your heart since then?